"That's the power of kittens (and puppies too, of course): They can reduce us to quivering masses of Jell-O in about two seconds flat and make us like it. Good thing they don't have opposable thumbs or they'd surely have taken over the world by now." -- Paul Lukas

Did I mention lately what a hero you are? I know you don't want to go emo on this, but I know how Limpet was part of your life. You did such a huge hero's job all the time she was sick, never avoiding or flinching or trying to hide from any of it to protect your own heart. I hated having to tell you, I hated how the story kept changing on you because we just didn't know what to tell you you could expect. You would have faced any of it, I just would have liked to reward your courage by giving you something better than 'we just have to hope'.

Remember when we brought her home? You were only ten. Remember how you looked at me when I told you - so carefully - that B and I had been talking about her all night and we had decided that if you agreed too, we'd like to pick this little cat and take her home - to be ours. I've never forgotten that look. Twenty-one years, and I've never seen a look quite like it on your face again. Never forgotten how you instantly plastered your tiny little self against the front of her cage so nobody else could see around you and somehow grab her away from behind you before my credit card cleared - even though the shelter was deserted and the attendant assured us it was already official and irreversible as soon as the sticker went up on her cage. You sat in the back of the car with her box on your lap and your fingers through the air holes so she'd have someone to reassure her, and you talked to her so gently, so carefully, so she'd feel safe. We both felt you vibing out joy until the whole car was thick with the silence of it. You might not have noticed this, but B drove home like a funeral car because you were so anxious about her getting bounced by a bump and he didn't want to cause you distress.

You're such a wonderful kid. You got such a wonderful cat. Remember how she was sick when she came home and we used to gather in an awed little circle of worship while she slept in her fever-cat way, and go 'Awwww' every time her sinus infection caused her to blow a little green snot-bubble that could have glowed in the dark? Remember the time you phoned me while I was working too late on some pointless project, and you said to me, all politely 'Could you excuse me for one moment, mom?' Then I heard you put the phone down and I heard your special loving firmness-with-Limpet voice saying 'NO cats on counters, Limpet.' I sat there thinking about how carefully you'd worked out a way of gathering your arms around her legs and gently 'hooshing' her towards the edge until she jumped down, since you were too small for the leverage to really lift her from such a high place. And then there was thumping, and some rustling, and some giggling sounds . . . and then awful silence. I sat there and tried to figure out how to freak out - I couldn't even start to imagine what could have happened. And at last I began to get more thumps and more bangs, and some distant heavy breathing mixed with giggles and an almighty crash. And finally your slightly-breathless I'm-not-giggling voice being all corporate so it could say 'Um, I'm afraid I'm going to have to phone you back.' Turned out she'd hooshed herself to the edge of the counter, into your arms, up onto your shoulders, and then from there walked down your back while you bent lower and lower to keep her stable, until she had you flat on the floor with your chin on the tiles, and she had settled down on your back for a nap. She started riding your shoulders quite naturally after that.

Never would do that with me, but with you it was perfectly normal for me to be standing in the kitchen stirring something, and have you mosey in in your sullen horrible how-dare-you-exist-in-the-same-world-as-me teenager way, fetch a bowl, fetch the cereal, open the fridge, bend down for the milk, pour the milk and the cereal, pivot, open the fridge, replace the milk and go back to your room with your dinner-spoiler . . . and all of it with Limpet happily settled down for the ride across your shoulders, kneading and purring like she was sitting in somebody's lap. You never cracked a smile, but don't tell me you weren't proud of it. Don't think I didn't notice how careful you were never to jolt her or knock her off balance, for all of your Great Stone Face act. There have been times when I've despaired of you, kid - any parent who's had a teenager is lying if they say they haven't felt the same fear. But seeing how you were with Limpet helped me to know that you'd be okay. No matter how foul your mood, you were always, always gentle with her.

I'm just trying to say. You were little when we got her and you would have agreed to anything then for her sake not even knowing what you were in for. But you turned 21 just days before she got sick, and you knew. To be honest, I didn't think you'd be able to deal with it all. I thought you'd look into the emotional chasm it all opened up, turn petrified at the depths that you saw, and back away. But you came to the vet the first time we checked her out and listened to the history and risks and what she would need. You came into the back room where they were preparing to put her into her box - and I thought you'd be afraid of the 'medical' look. She took one look when she saw it was you and leapt straight off the table onto your shoulders, sick as she was. There's no question that she needed you, and you knew it, and you came through for her.

The first tiime I thought I was obligated to put her to sleep because the vet said the turning point was when they gave up eating, did you know I seriously considered just announcing the fact and doing it while you were at school? That's my cowardice, but it's also habit. Time was only a few years ago when you would have chosen to do it that way. You would have tried to pretend it was not happening by backing away. It took me some guts to give you the choice of waiting until you were home and making the appointment for late in the day so you could be there. You said like it was automatic that you wanted to be there with her, like it was out of the question to let her be put her to sleep without you to see her through it. And you were there, when we finally did have to do it. For her sake, not yours. I saw it in the way you were gentling her. You were there because you've always been her touchstone just like she was yours, and it never even went through your mind to betray her on that.

I miss you so much. I can't believe it's been ten months since your passing on. Every day, something little reminds me of you, and I feel my heart breaking all over again. I know you are not in pain anymore, and that you wish you were here for me, but I would give anything to spend another day with you.

Dear Ms. Johnson: I enjoyed "Next Food Network Star" very much! The three top finishers were so close. Please give a show to each of them. I live in Chicago, which has a vibrant Mexican-American community; I love traditional Mexican food and I'd be delighted to "Spice It Up" with Susie. "Mama's Boy" Vic has touched my heart with his personality and I'd have a great time learning his approach to Italian comfort food. And Jeff "anything can be a sandwich"-- well, there is no doubt I will learn a lot from watching his show. I would love to see more of each one of them. You did this with Adam Gertler and Kelsey Nixon-- please make it happen again.

Last edited by cassiesmom; 08-15-2011 at 03:40 PM.

I've been Boo'd... right off the stage!

Aaahh, I have been defrosted! Thank you, Bonny and Asiel!
Brrrr, I've been Frosted! Thank you, Asiel and Pomtzu!

"That's the power of kittens (and puppies too, of course): They can reduce us to quivering masses of Jell-O in about two seconds flat and make us like it. Good thing they don't have opposable thumbs or they'd surely have taken over the world by now." -- Paul Lukas

I know this is small and petty... but you know.... I try to be nice and make nice comments about your facebook comments and status posts. Even when they're stupid. Why? Because facebook is sometimes the only way we can keep in touch. Why again? Because you don't reply to my texts and emails and when I call you, I get chewed out for interrupting your busy life, and you don't bother to call me back. I'm ONLY your sister, or cousin, or niece, or daughter-in-law. You never reply to my status on facebook.

I'm disheartened by the fact that my ex-husbands mother and I have a better relationship than I do with any of you.

You all make me sad.

Think about how the smallest action could really improve someone's day and think about them above your own selfish needs for a change sometimes.

Oh! And please let me keep that cat and please let mom like it, and please don't let it hurt me, the people I know, and cause trouble to me or the people I know and please make me and the people I know, love her, and please make her love me and the people I know. Thankyou!

"That's the power of kittens (and puppies too, of course): They can reduce us to quivering masses of Jell-O in about two seconds flat and make us like it. Good thing they don't have opposable thumbs or they'd surely have taken over the world by now." -- Paul Lukas